In Drugs We Trust: An Ode To Hunter S. Thompson

Dedicated to Drug Users, and the late Hunter S. Thompson.

This is tragedy, honorific, humorous journey of one writer reaching too high to write books.

If you enjoyed Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke, or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, you

will be buzzed again by this book. If you like jumping in jungle gyms while intoxicated,

drowning in a water fountain in front of hotel while equipped designer drugs, or following the

police while high on cocaine this drug I mean book is for you.

None of us chose our lives. None of us plan to take a hint of meth or become addicted to

Robotussin. None of us are given a hand book like a B.S.A. manual how to overcome

ourselves. By the time most of us realize how and why we got here, it is too late.

As I type this mental dribble, if this was an NBA play, it would be called traveling with the

ball. There is no rhyme, no Pulitzer Prize waiting for this hack. This is a book about defeat,

attempts, repeat attempts, dreams, loses and being real. The only fake part is I have

changed the names but not the game. For you may forget the drug but the drug never

forgets you.

A.A. does work but not for me. Hunter S. Thompson took his own life. The drugs took their

toil but not his soul. Enter the journey of a mad boy, madman who still is still living in a drug

state since 1973; at least off and on.

Drugs lead to more drugs, more drugs leads to more booze, more boozing leads to mood

swings, sex without control and motivation going into your throat hole. If you have the drugs

you are rock star to girls you never could get without it, and never will see after it. That’s

why everybody is turning gay or lesbian, for the cause not the sex is the reason. The

fucking drug will cause you to change your causes down to a cause; another high, crash,

another mountain, then peak, then valley of slow sleeping death.

We all want to be star athletes, movie divas, or a pro at some specialty. The fifth teen

minutes of fame becomes the fifth teen hours of riding on Cathedrals like a flying buttress.

For addicts like moi all have our reasons for getting high all seasons. Merry Christmas is

every day or so, and we don’t care about others as long as we make our way along the

opiate laced road.







I took my first hit of speed at 9, and my first vodka and orange juice at six. My mother had 38 shock treatments by 30 and her mother drank while she was an embryo (toxic shock syndrome). She always felt either too big or too small in a room except with the bottle.
This book is not self-pity or the writer’s self-deception, more like self-deprecating. For drug users or addicts alike, this bud, I mean book is for you.
Doc King Cole